Mrs Chowdry

I sit there happily nibbling at my crisps watching an old re-run of 'Mission Impossible'.

It's just getting to the good part (though I think all of the programme is good) when my mom pokes her head in.

"Aren't you mean't to be going?" she asks.

"In a minute, mom. I'm just watching the end of this." I reply.

"Don't give me that 'in a minute mom' with me. Mrs Chowdry has very kindly offered to give you extra tuition so that you can get into university next year and you told her that you will there at eight. It's almost that now." she retorts.

"You better go, son." my father says who has been watching the programme with me.

Knowing that I will not win the argument, plus miss the end of MI whatever happens, I sigh and get up.

Grabbing my books and my jacket, I leave the house and make my way to where Mrs Chowdry lives.

I shake my head. I'm 18 years of age and my mom still bosses me around as if I am 8. Arrghh!

Then again, she's the same with my dad.

It takes me a good half an hour to reach Chowdry's house.

Ringing her door bell, I patiently wait until the front door opens.

She's not happy.

"You are late, young man. It is almost 8.30." she says with that curious Indian accent, pointing to her watch.

"Sorry." I say.

"Well you better come in then." she says as she starts walking back into the house.

As I start to follow, she shouts behind her "and don't forget to close the front door."

I almost did.

I close it and follow her in...